EPIC
by MegGenScull
Summary: Greek Myth AU. Sam and Dean Winchester have a lot of work to do. They've got a prophecy hanging over their head and a bunch of paths they have to tread before they get there. Monsters, gods, men, wars and the Fate's themselves stand in the way of thwarting what's planned for them, so Sam and Dean need all the help they can get.
1. Renegade

**Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me. I wander this lonely road. I am so damn tragic. Everything goes to Kripke and WB. Lucky SOB's.**

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**Oh my poor little muse, she must be suffering terribly from my whims and all that jazz.**

**Anyway, so it seems I somehow decided to create a spn Greek Myth AU with gods and monsters and the whole 'WOE TRAGEDY HOLY SHIT IM SO TRAGIC' hero mentality. Which is fun and angsty and all that.**

**So anyway, I lay down and you know when your brain does that thing where it's like 'fuck you I do what I want' and then you start thinking about random shit but you're too tired to separate it so it all merges and your like**

**"YES DAMN IM FANTASTIC"**

**And then you wake up the next morning and you are literally like the worst person in the world like your ideas were so shit and you just wonder _how_.**

**This is sort of like that, because I don't know if we should have characters _portraying _the gods or if they ARE the gods. Like, Ellen is the Goddess of Wisdom or 'The goddess Athena had dark brown eyes and a serious stare, but her lips made an easy smile and she had a soft, serious way of speaking. Se held herself like the world was hers to take.'**

**Anyway, chuck me a PM or Review.**

**(Review haha what)**

**And my early apology because this is sort of a boring chapter, setting a bit of stuff up.**

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CHAPTER 1: _Renegade_

Sam threw the package overhead and Dean leapt up and caught it, barreling through the marketplace, leaping over a stall that held muscles and other shelled aquatic animals.

He let out a laugh and looked across at Sam, who had sped up now that he wasn't holding the package. He glanced across and his eyes locked with Dean's.

He ran further and further and jumped and dived. Not a demigod, but he could outrun just about everyone, his little brother.

Dean? He relied on more of the brute strength, in your face, _give me all your money_ sort of strength. He raced along now, the soldiers focusing on him, their eyes fixed on his sandaled feet and occupied hands.

"Sammy!"

Sam ran nearer to him, the younger Winchester breathing heavily. The soldiers were gaining on him, so he threw off the package across to Sam again, who caught it easily, weaving between the cramped stalls of the marketplace. The soldiers barged through after him, knocking down figs and olives, grains and cotton. A stall selling sheep and goat skin collapsed after a particularly heavy set soldier rampaged past, and the squat owner was left yelling after the man, waving his fist and jibbering away in some language that Dean didn't understand.

"Dean!"

Dean looked over and saw Sam dancing out of the tables and into relatively clear space. Dean reached out his arms and Sam tossed him the statue. The few guards left to chase Dean had slowed down considerably at this point; they all had. No one could be expected to keep up with them, not even trained soldiers of the kings guard.

Dean raced off with the statue, heading for the shorter, smaller streets in the very centre of town. It was their only hope of losing their tales. The brothers met up again.

they raced off together down the same street.

"Split up?" Sam asked.

Dean glanced down at the bundle in his arms. "Who's taking Problem Number One?"

Sam shot his brother a look.

Dean was starting to feel winded. "Can you take it?"

"I am faster," Sam agreed.

Dean scowled. "I didn't say _that_-"

"Now!"

Dean threw up the statue and Sam darted beneath it and caught it, racing off in the opposite direction that Dean had run. Dean hunched over, pretending to carry something so that when the soldiers glanced down, in the split second they had to make the decision, they'd send some after both.

Dean thought of what the soldiers would be able to do if they got to Sam and his blood turned cold. Preferably more following him.

"Sorry ma'am," Dean saluted, vaulting past a shop with a sign advertising hookers and cheap wine. The woman in question was too old to be a prostitute, so she must have been the wife of the owner. Nevertheless, she gaped as Dean dashed passed.

He ran around the corner, glanced back to see none of the soldiers had made it to it yet and ducked around another two. It was beautiful, these streets, they were intricate as a maze, perfect for Dean and his brother as they pushed each other along, dragging stolen things through the city centre.

Dean ran for another ten minutes, his breathing beginning to labour, the cramps in his calves heightening to near unbearable levels.

At long last, he hoisted himself up onto a roof and lay close to the surface, his stomach pushing against the sandstone.

He relaxed up there, sun beating down on his light brown hair, darkening his skin. He took deep breaths and waited to see if Sam would find him.

They did what they always did, went to the roofs and stood up.

Dean counted down. They had had 15 minutes each to lose their chasers. Since they'd started this, the time had gotten less and less until it was nearly impossible. Sam insisted they needed the challenge though, with a sort of savage grin.

Dean hadn't argued.

Now he regretted it, the seconds having run out, looking around for Sam. His brother had better of been captured, or else Dean had agreed to the stupid time limit for no reason.

Then, Dean squinted against the sun and looked across the white roofs, hand over his eyes to fend off the glare off the tops of all the houses, he thought he saw something. He frowned further and looked deeper into the day. Then he grinned and lay back.

Sam was standing and waving the fabric they'd stored the idol in like a flag, before dropping to all fours and then to his stomach, crouching on the roof.

Dean carefully, stood, waving his hand out, wondering if he should rip his tunic off to make some sort of memorable statement before thinking against it.

Sam glanced up and started making his way across to Dean. He leapt from roof to roof like a mountain goat, feet hitting across the passageways and alleys with an eerie confidence.

It anyone had seen Sam in action, with his odd precision, they would have said _he _were the demigod, rather than Dean.

Dean scowled up at the sky, where the king of the gods was probably watching him with the appropriate amount of angst and sarcasm as can be expected of an ancient, all powerful sky deity.

The king of the gods was called John.

Honestly, Dean thought it was the dumbest thing he'd ever heard, but he didn't like to go too deep into it, despite being the only one who probably could. Anyone else insult the boringness of 'John' and they'd probably wake up coughing their lung up. Literally.

"Sammy," Dean greeted. "Took you long enough."

Sam huffed and threw the idol at Dean's feet. "Wow. Thanks."

"I'm just sayin'," Dean shrugged, picking the statue up and taking Sam's makeshift flag out of his hands, wrapping the gold inside the hessian.

"So, we're done here?" Sam asked, huddling down awkwardly, keeping a careful eye on the marketplace and the other places that the soldiers would be able to see them should they look up from each other's finely chiselled chests for more than three seconds.

Dean nodded. "Done and dusted. Why? Meet someone?" Dean grinned. "You know, if it's a pig again...honestly Sam, _most _cultures aren't all that big on bestiality."

Sam shoved Dean and rolled his eyes. "You're hilarious."

Dean lead the way off the roof, nonchalant. "I am pretty great for a guy who's proof of the gods existence on Earth."

Sam sighed.

Dean and Sam made it off the roof easily, jumping down from window to floor, rolling so as to not break their ankles.

"So," Dean rubbed his hands together. "We taking the boat back? Or are we walking."

Sam actually looked torn. "If we take the boat, someone'll probably try to steal the statue."

"We'll sell it at the first port."

Sam grimaced. "We won't get a good price so close to the place we stole it, Dean."

Dean inclined his head. "True."

"If we walk the king will notice we've been gone for too long," Sam balanced, frowning and tapping his lip with his finger. He wasn't sure. They'd never been so far from home before. Normally walking was the obvious answer, because they only went to towns that were near their kingdom. But now they'd been forced to branch out after news had come to their king of two boys stealing things from temples.

The idol they'd taken had been from a tribute to the Sky God, so Dean didn't have too many qualms about it. Nothing bad ever really happened, mostly because Dean betted his dad made sure he could get to the age in order to fulfil his prophecy or whatever crap the gods yakked on about.

The only time anything had happened was the time Sam had removed a tribute to the Hunting Goddess from one of her temples and he'd nearly died from some mystery illness.

That had been terrifying, but it had eased off when Dean had threatened to kill himself.

Those had been an intense few weeks.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked the uncharacteristically quiet Dean.

"Just thinkin'," Dean said, wistful for days gone passed when they used to plan to every second, jumping in during the middle of the night paying off soldiers to raise the alarm in different parts of the city. Now all they needed was access and they were set.

Dean probably could have been worried about how easily he and Sam had become thieves, but all the money they'd collected from it had been worth it.

They were nearly there, nearly at enough where they could sneak off with their mother, present her as the widow she likely was (she never talked about Sam's father, and it got to a stage where they didn't want to ask) and they could start a life away from the king and his greedy eyes.

"I'm thinking..." Sam ran a hand through his growing hair. It hadn't been cut in a while and flicked around his ears. It made him look oddly young and must have been fucking _hot_ to deal with in the Greek summer. he looked at Dean. "I think we should sail."

Dean blinked and nodded. "Sounds good to me. Why the change of heart, Rhea?"

Sam ignored the 'Rhea' comment and trudge along, picking up the pace a little. "We'll sell it when we make port at Athens."

Dean nodded his head. "Fair enough."

"Would it be too far to walk back from there?" Sam wondered. The brothers turned a corner and released a little tension when they saw that the next street was as empty as the one they'd been walking down.

"Depends," Dean said. "How long you tell the king we'd be gone?"

Sam recalled back to the day they'd asked to be granted a holiday. "Three weeks."

"I still can't believe he doesn't put our 'holidays' and the thieves together," Dean shook his head.

"Why?" Sam asked. "Because we yell each other's name every damn time? Or because we are literally the _least_ subtle bastards to have ever sailed the Mediterranean, which, I don't know if you're aware, is a _pretty_ massive title."

The two boys paused outside an open window and Dean hoisted Sam up so that he could push himself through. He toppled into the room and then stuck his hand down to help Dean up.

"I say we lie low for a few days, and then go," Sam said, flopping down onto his bed in the Inn. They'd booked themselves in here and planned their daring steal over the past few days. Not that much planning had been needed.

"Right," Dean nodded, letting the statue drop onto his bed and stretching, sitting on his bed and unlacing his sandals.

The two brothers sat in silence.

"That was kind of graceless," Sam commented.

"Not our smoothest," Dean agreed.

They fell into silence again.

Three days of planning and Dean had managed to summarise the plan in three words. Steal, Run, Escape.

There was an odd sort of beauty to being so utterly tactless.

* * *

The king of the gods didn't have anything to worry about, not really. He was literally the king of the world, everything bent to his whim, everything was under his control. He could order a war to spring up in Thrace, or a sickness to drive out the Athenians from their home. He could damn man to a lifetime of hell and torment for scoffing at his name and he could order his children and siblings around, them being the centre of everything, the personification of everything on earth.

Everyone bent to him. Everyone except _her._

She wasn't a singular body, but it was easier to label her thus. She flowed and merged as three women. No one was really sure what to think of her, what to name her, whether she was, in fact, a _her _at all. But the king of the gods had no room to question it. Because of his father. And his grandfather. And the lives that she held on the palms of her three hands.

John stood before the fates and tried not to flee. He was a large, godly entity with the power to reduce the world to rubble. His lightening awed and frightened the world and he had sentenced Prometheus to eternal torment for helping humanity a little along the road. There really wasn't anything that _should _frighten him. Honestly nothing at all.

So why then, when he looked into her (their, them, who knew?) face (faces?) did he feel so ill at ease?

He'd had sons before, daughters even. Layla was his, born the most beautiful maiden of the land. He'd heard she had chosen a husband and gone off to live with him in Sparta. But he didn't care much for her. Perhaps in a thousand years there'd be women with enough freedom that'd be worth backing, but today she was a piece in the game.

"Son of Kronos," Fate crooned, in three voices and then in one her blonde hair in disarray around her face. John shifted, she always made him so _nervous_. Everything about her was messy and incomplete and _powerful_. "You've come to speak of your son? Yes?"

The sky god set his jaw and nodded. He recalled the beauty goddess, Bela, claiming she was the most powerful of the gods because not even he could resist her charms. But now he looked upon the fate of the world and it was held in the palm of insanity.

Fate laughed and the sound was like a trickle of water, but it scratched as well, tore at him. There were three laughs overlapping. "Very well. I speak through the Oracle on earth, but today I speak to you. What is it that you want to know? Are my Oracles _below _your standards?"

She was goading him, John knew it, so he ignored her. "I want to know the extent of the prophecy."

"The prophecy?" Fate repeated, like she (they, their? Who?) had misheard.

John glowered. _He _was the king of the gods. _He _held the power here. Kronos was dead, buried in Tartarus, Ouranus mellowed and junk-less. No one was there to threaten him. No one except his sons.

"Ah, patricide," the voices of Fate giggled. It was girlish and terrifying and she looked at him, six eyes and then two, glimmering with mirth. "Your biggest weakness?"

John tried not to remember the time he'd _eaten _someone because he'd thought they might give birth to a son. Of course, the War Goddess Ellen had made him pay for it, what with the headaches before her birth and the ones after. She was fiery and insubordinate and John feared her a little, feared her city and her tactical mind. "No. Dean. Now."

Fate sighed, her three voices losing and catching each other. "Oh, oh John. Don't hurt us. Don't hurt yourself."

"Will he be remembered?" John demanded, frustrated now. "Will they sing songs about him?"

Fate smiled. "He will be remembered, yes."

John relaxed slightly. It was what he could hope for, right? He'd had hundreds of children and more often than not they'd died some cruel and forgotten death in the back of the charge. "Will he survive."

Fate tittered. She split and became whole again, those six eyes flashing, three mouths and three sets of grinning yellowed teeth. "Oh, dear boy." She spoke to him like he was a child, he suddenly realised. She was older than him, thousands of years older, but even Bela, born of Chaos as they were didn't dare threaten him in the way they were. Threaten him in their _disrespect_. "He is a demigod. He is a hero. There are no happy endings. There is _nothing _for him."

"He will die," John said, feeling oddly hollow.

Fate scowled, her three bodies separating again in a show of anger. "He is _mortal_. He will die whether he fight in the war that is coming or not."

"This prophecy," John pressed. "What does it say, _exactly_?"

Fate looked angry. "You ask too much, son of Kronos."

John was beginning to feel anger sparking at him like volts of electricity. He fumed and glared at her. Them. Ugh.

"You _will _tell me," John said, slowly and with conviction. "Or I will _kill _you."

Fate scoffed. "You can try."

John moved forward. "You _will _tell me. Because if you do not, I will kill him, here and now. What happens then? What happens to your precious _game plan _if I mess it up now?"

The fates only smiled. "It is with attempting to avoid fate that most meet it."

Her face morphed in a show of pain and then she grinned, bared her teeth like she was coming through some sort of immense pain. She split completely now and was three identical women.

"Tell him," one hissed.

"We cannot," another said, her tongue barbed like a snake.

"It is forbidden," the third agreed.

"_Tell _him," the first hissed, with more anger than before.

"_We cannot_," the second reiterated. "_We cannot._"

"It is forbidden," the third repeated.

The first snarled and turned to the king of the gods. "Death. Death and honour, oh yes glory and honour, but at _such _great a cost. Blood on his hands and blood on the hands of his brother. Everyone around him will die."

"Dean's brother, his mother?" John demanded, thinking of Mary and trying not to remember the way she had smiled at him, the way she had listened to him and kissed him. "They will _die_?"

"The mother, the brother," the fate whispered. "Everyone he cares about."

"_Enough_, sister," one snapped, glaring at the first of the Fates with barbs for eyes.

John thought and tried not to lose his head. Dean would be remembered, he would bring honour to himself. Mary and Sam would be granted to the Elysian Fields when they arrived at the Underworld. The god of the Dead and his master would be forced to ensure that.

John looked at each one of them and did not blink as they merged again, the one woman a little unsteady on her feet as the three sisters twisted together.

John nodded at each of them, not in thanks, he'd never _thank _them for promising him the death of his son and his sons loved ones, but nodded all the same. Then he disappeared, no sign that he'd ever been there at all.

The body of the Fates twisted her mouth into a smile.

"Darling, dear," they crooned in three separate voices. "We _know _you, we _see _you, come to us, goddess."

The woman in question stood and walked over to them. Anna did not fear the fates. They were brass and crude but they were intelligent and despite the long golden threads they commanded, they were not dangerous. They would not hurt her unless their plan foretold it, and if it did, well, Anna had made peace with that many years ago.

The goddess of the Hearth, Home and family planted herself in the same spot the King had stood, feeling her shoes fill up the room that he'd left. "Fates," she greeted.

"Anna," they said, splitting and reforming. It was disconcerting. "Why did you not wish for him to see you."

"I wanted to hear the fate of Dean Winchester for myself," she answered fearlessly.

"And now you will go warn him," they scoffed, three voices for the start of the sentence before melting into one. "You will try to _save _him."

"There is always a choice," Anna shrugged. "Perhaps he will not want to be remembered. Perhaps he will want to survive. Perhaps he will want his brother and his mother to survive."

The fates smiled. Smiled like they were holding all the cards. Anna wasn't phased, because, honestly, they _were_.

"You sacrifice much, goddess," the Fates crooned.

Anna straightened. "I've sacrificed a lot _already_."

"Gave up your place in the Olympian council so that buffoon with the thing for the grapes could take your spot," the Fates murmured.

"A necessary sacrifice," Anna reminded them.

"Necessary and foretold," the Fates shrugged, grinning again.

Anna watched them carefully. "Farewell."

"Wait," they were three people again, but spoke at once, in one voice. "Do you not want to know where he is?"

Anna paused and looked at them guardedly. "You'd tell me?"

Fate just laughed and Anna felt something cold running down her back. The way they laughed, it was like she (they, their..._honestly_) knew exactly what Anna planned.

Anna supposed that she did.

* * *

Jo Harvelle had been left to die when she was a baby. Not because of something reasonable, like a sickness that would take her within the first years of her life anyway, or because of some disfigurement that would be of embarrassment for the daughter of a king. No, because she had been born female.

And now here she was, standing before the castle that she'd been expelled from, kicked out of, roughly rejected.

The wind pushed around her, hot from the desert, then cool as it came from the opposite direction, whisking over the kingdom one over and collecting the air over the sweet cold of the Mediterranean.

She didn't shiver, she just stood, her face scrunched up, her fingers quivering around the sword on her belt and her shoulders were beginning to ache under the stress of her bow and quiver. It had been a show of strength, the bow, the arrows, the sword, her bare arms stressing her strength, her hunter's dress proving the lean ferocity of her body.

She wondered how long she had been standing there.

She gritted her teeth and raised her hand to the gate and pressed her palm against it.

With trepidation, the wood moved open.

The town opened up to her, men and women looking at her like she'd walked to them out of myth, like she was proof of their existence on earth.

Jo glared, set her features and walked, head held high, not meeting anyone's eyes. Her chin jutted out and proved her pride, her hand clenched around her sword proved her worth.

* * *

Cas cleared another table and tried not to gag as the smell of the man's vomit wavered through the air, hovering in the already grungy cloth he'd wet to clean up the mess and then mixing through the air.

"Are you alright?" He asked the man, who was bent over and moaning on the floor.

The man groaned and tossed on the floor, his blood shot eyes peering up and meeting Cas's. "Ughhghghhhg..."

"I know," Cas sighed, picking the man up from under the arms and placing him carefully back in his seat. "It's ok."

Cas had to thank his parents for the fact that he could hold liquor well, and then the men he cleaned up for never giving him the desire to drink at all. Besides, it seemed they all drunk to forget. To get away from the world.

What did he have to get away from? His sister who had opened up her home to him? Rachel's small children who climbed onto his lap and were so tiny and perfect? Perhaps the fact that he had a job, especially considering the crisis that seemed to grip the state?

Athens was suffering and people were beginning to wonder if they'd offended a god. Perhaps the god of wealth, or John himself. Perhaps neither. It was difficult, keeping up with it all and remembering all of them, remembering to honour all of them. They were so ruthless and, well, _sensitive_, and impossible to please. Cas caught himself before he could say anything about it, but it was really beginning to get to him. Especially with Rachel and her children, and then her husband who worked so hard for them to have a good life.

He was a good man, and he'd taken Cas in without a second thought. Taking in strangers had been a major part of Cas's life, it was fundamental for their entire culture. Ever since there had been the flood and the Man and Wife who'd escaped it because of their hospitality, everyone had been taking everyone in.

Nevertheless, Castiel certainly wasn't a god, and the family took him in anyway.

"Castiel!"

Cas craned his head and walked over to where his boss had yelled at him. Here was a downside to working at the tavern, other than the vomit and the occasional brawl that he was expected to control. He was rude and unruly and did nothing but drink his own wine and skimp of Cas's pay.

Cas didn't complain though, it was one thing to have an uncomfortable boss and an entire other to completely rely on your sister and her husband for home. At least this way he was making contributions, buying food, paying for clothing should the children run out of tunics, taking over the upkeep of the two slaves Rachel's husband had been able to afford.

"Yes?"

The tavern keeper nodded to where a woman sat by herself, in front of her was a drained cup that must have held mead or wine. "Ask her when she'd ready to fuck off."

Cas clenched his jaw at the vulgarity of his boss, but did as he asked. He weaved through the tavern, around bawdy drunks, happy drunks, clingy drunks and depressed drunks. He jumped over a dead-to-the-world drunk and seated a false bravado drunk.

He managed to get all around them to the woman. In honesty, he was curious. She was alone, without a male escort, drinking.

"I'm sorry, but your table is needed for new customers," Cas smiled at her apologetically.

The woman blinked, startling herself out a deep thought and smiled.

She had big, brown doe eyes and bright, flame red hair and Cas was a little enthralled by her. She was beautiful, that was sure, with her milky skin and fine features. "Of course. I'll leave immediately."

But Cas didn't want her to leave, not right away. "What were you doing here anyway? Not exactly the fanciest place in town." _Or the safest_, Cas felt like adding, but the way she held herself, the way she looked around the room, Cas had no doubt that she'd be able to take care of herself.

She smiled at Castiel and he felt himself smiling back. "Just watching the pieces."

Cas frowned and blinked in surprised. As soon as he opened his eyes she was gone, and the cup that he'd judged to be empty was full. The tavern keeper was leading two men to the table, with promises of free olives and pastries, like there had never been anyone sitting there at all.

Cas shook his head. It was all very disconcerting. Perhaps he'd become drunk by association. Or perhaps the fire on her sleeves, the way her hair flickered, the way her eyes caught his...No. Gods and the Goddesses, they look down from their perch and they scrutinise, but they don't visit.

And if they do, it's only to people who deserve it, people who are one day going to become something.

Cas heard retching and straightened, stretched and pulled out the cloth from his back pocket.

And he couldn't be destined for greatness. Look at him.

So he didn't entertain the thought, not even for a little bit, not even once.

* * *

**End of chapter _ooonnneeee_**

**So!**

**John: Zeus**

**Sam/Dean: Like all the heroes ever omg**

**Jo: Atalanta**

**Layla (that GORGEOUS girl from Heart during s1 who had the brain tumor and was just lovely. Like she was so nice and now she's probably dead and well story of my life right): Helen**

**Anna: Hestia**

**Review! They feed Calliope and she can get pretty hungry, you're hearin' it from me folks.**


	2. Enter Sandman

**Disclaimer, I own nothing except like a few things here and there. This is also a very basic idea of Ancient Greece and the mythology involved, although Atalanta really was suckled by a bear and other crazy stunts like that**

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**I name my chapters after songs because I'm wild and I do what I want.**

**And because, *sniff*, it's what Kevin would have wanted.**

**So I've decided to keep John's name as John because it makes me laugh and if something brings you joy in life my dear you hold onto that thing and you do not let go.**

**Don't expect me to keep the chapter names as old Dean-esque songs. *angry arm waving* You can't **_**ask**_** that of me!**

**This chap is named after Metallica's song **_**Enter Sandman.**_

**The last one was named after **_**Renegade **_**by Styx.**

**Without further ado, I'll stop chewing your arm off and let you get to the main attraction.**

**Btw swearing for like forever hahah**

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CHAPTER 2: _Enter Sandman_

That night, somehow, there was a cargo ship in port with a shifty captain that didn't ask questions and was heading direct to Athens. Sam would have believed that some god was watching out for them is he had thought that the gods cared about anyone but themselves.

Dean had set himself up on the deck, stretched out on some poor persons grain export. Sam however had stayed below deck in the area that he and Dean had been allocated. He was busy hiding the statue, then placing three decoys in more obvious places. It was exhausting, but people payed good money for gold, even if it was stolen from the temple of John.

_John_. Sam shook his head. Honestly. What self-respecting god called himself _John_?

Sam lay back and stared up at the wood that was the ground of the deck and his own personal ceiling. It was a dodgier ride than they normally got. Usually it was walking or 'cutting loose' some horses. The king thought they were off to the woods to chase tree nymphs and discover themselves or some crap along those lines. It had been easy to trick him, he was so eager to be rid of them both after Dean had given him a good name that he probably would have sent them off to the firing line had the opportunity come up. Sam had initially respected the guy for taking them in, for marrying Mary despite the fact that she had two bastard sons (well, who knew for Sam) and for treating them and naming them his own sons. But now it was getting harder and harder to find things to forgive him with. Mary was miserable, they were criminals and the world was falling to pieces.

Of course, he'd married her because he'd heard rumours of the Gods blood arriving on his shores and wanted to claim some of that glory for himself. He'd gotten Dean the best of the trainers in the whole of the land. Rufus marched them around with a brute sort of efficiency, but an efficiency nonetheless. Sam had never been as strong as Dean, so Rufus had taught him how to win by being clever and by being _fast_. Sam had always respected him for that.

Sam sighed and turned onto his side, finished with running and hiding their goods. The boat was to take off in twenty minutes and it was probably better that Sam was sleeping if soldiers came knocking. He knew that the kingdom was awfully superstitious. That left them with placing their faith in the gods that the statue would be avenged by their heavenly associates.

Sam found sleep easily. Hypnos must have been in a good mood.

The soldiers did not come aboard the ship. It departed the docks and took with it Dean sunbaking on the deck and Sam sleeping soundly below.

Sam was having an odd dream.

He knew lots of stuff. Like he knew that Bellerphron had been told where the girdle of the Pegasus was because the goddess of wisdom had come to him. Sam had always thought it was pretty unrealistic, this coming from a guy who'd bought the king taking them in out of the 'goodness of his heart'.

He had been an infant when they'd washed up onto the shores, having been cast away at the bottom of a merchant's ship not unlike this one. He should probably stop being so hard on himself for that.

But now he was in a dream and he was standing next to his sleeping form. Dean had ambled in some time when he'd been asleep and collapsed near him, limbs tangled with the ropes and other bits and pieces scattered along the ground.

"Sam," a feminine voice said.

Sam turned and saw a woman, red headed and proud. She had doe brown eyes and wore flames on her sleeves. "Uh...hi?"

"I have to speak to you," she pressed, walking forward so that he had to look at her. All at once he noticed there was something off about her. Call it intuition or the fact that he'd had his brother to measure people up to his entire life, but she seemed unearthly. Godly.

"You...am I dreaming?" Sam inwardly cursed. Nice priorities.

"Yes," she said quickly. "Sam, this concerns your brother."

Sam raised his eyebrows. Of course it did. "Oh, well then you're at the wrong-"

"No, no," The woman seemed nervous. "It's you I have to speak to."

"Are you..." Sam narrowed his eyes. The flames and her presence, the way her aura seemed the emit friendliness and happiness and _home_. "You're the goddess of the hearth, Anna, right?"

Anna looked confused. "What? Oh, yes. Yeah I am. It concerns a prophecy."

Sam frowned. "Whose prophecy?"

Anna looked like she was nearly done trying to explain all this to Sam. "You're _brothers_, you absolute _Nymph_."

Sam blinked. "That's a bit harsh."

Anna shrugged. "Maybe. Ok, I overheard the Fates talking to Dean's father. They told him what was in plan for him."

Sam narrowed his eyes. "Why should I believe you?"

Anna was becoming agitated. "Because you need to _save _him, Sam!"

There was complete silence as Sam stared at Anna. "..._save _him?"

Anna hissed in frustration. "Are all humans so _slow_? Yes! Save him! You can never avoid your own fate, but maybe, if someone knows, someone who can _do _something..."

"You want me to save him," Sam summarised. "From what?"

"From becoming a Hero," Anna said, giving a dark laugh like it was something disgusting. _Hero_. "It _never _ends well Sam, _never_. You can't be happy and remembered. It's never happened. It never will happen."

"He won't be remembered," Sam said slowly. He wondered how bad the prophecy was if it was worse than that.

"He'll lose everyone," Anna plead. "You, your mother, everyone you've ever cared about. He'll live through all that, only to _die_. Please Sam, he needs to be _saved_. He won't be able to take this. It'll turn him mad."

Sam stood in shocked silence. "And...and Dean's father is alright with this?"

Anna smiled darkly. "Of course. Another son remembered and the threat of patricide at _nil_. he'll protect Dean from the scorn of the other gods for trespassing on their sacred spaces and stealing their sacred things, but he won't save him from this."

Sam mulled it over, head turning a thousand miles a minute. _His _death. Dean would survive his and his mothers and _everyone _they cared about. He thought about Dean all alone, without _anyone_. Then he looked slowly up at her. Anna was looking at him insistently, she looked so hopeful. There was something wrong here. The gods didn't just _help _people. They fought people and bit at people and tore people to shreds.

Sam looked at her carefully. "Why are you helping me?"

Anna blinked, shocked. "_Why_?" She asked like she was wondering how he had the audacity to ask her that. Like it was the furthest thing from what she could have expected him to say.

Sam was unrelenting. "Yeah. Why? Why go behind your brothers back? _Why_?"

"Because, you, he, your mother," Anna looked like she was getting angry. "You're _family_. I'm supposed to be your protector. I can't stand by idly anymore. It's _killing_ me." She met his eyes with a chilling ferocity and helplessness. "I _can't_."

Sam watched her carefully. His foot brushed against his sleeping ankle and he felt a thrill run up his body. She would be punished for this, if anyone found out. Unless she was acting on the orders of someone. Unless she was using him.

Sam shook his head slowly. "I don't know if I believe you."

Anna sighed. She looked defeated.

Sam hadn't expected her to _sag _like that, to look so _devoid _of life. Perhaps she was being sincere. But could he take that chance? He knew, probably better than most people, how apt the gods were at fucking things up.

Anna just ran her hand through her hair and knocked the hood of her cloak off of her head. "I get that you don't believe me. I just want you to know that I never lied to you, Sam. _Never_."

Sam frowned but she was drifting away, and everything was cloudy white and nothing.

And then he was being shaken awake, a hand on his shoulder, Dean's voice in his ear.

"Rise and shine, Sammy," and he could hear the grin in his big brothers voice.

Sam turned, woozy, lost in sheep, shaking it off of himself and stretching out, his long legs hitting something by his feet. He remembered where he'd been standing last night and looked up quickly, wondering for a second whether he was going to look up and see himself smiling down at him, eyes black as sin, ready to kill Sam and take his place.

Sam looked around quickly and saw nothing but a bunch of bags that Dean must have moved when he'd woken up. He let out a short laugh of relief and pushed himself onto his elbows, sitting himself up and looking around the room. Other people had slept in the same place as them that night, but they'd been more prepared than the Winchester's. They had pillows and sheep skin blankets. They were curled around each other and still breathing evenly.

Sam glanced around and saw the doorway, mentally calculated the light and the dark and swore.

He ran up to where Dean was standing, half tempted to throw him into the water.

"Dean!" Sam said, annoyed, stalking out of the cabin, not caring how much noise he made. "What the _hell_? It's still _really _fucking early."

"Language, Sam," Dean chastised, his heart not fully into the joke.

Sam just heaved a sigh and went to stand next to him. Across the water the sun was rising, crashing out of the waves and moving across the universe. Sam had to admit it was beautiful, even if he'd had to wake up early to see it. Eos arched her fingers and curled across the horizon, like she was stretching, desperate, across the heavens. Reaching up to touch the stars, drops of sunlight her tears as they ran away from her.

"How are you, Sam?" Dean asked suddenly.

Sam looked at him oddly. "Uh, fine. I guess."

Dean nodded and kept his gaze out to sea. "Awesome."

Sam shifted, uncomfortable. "How are...how are you, Dean?"

Dean nodded slowly. "Good as I'll ever be."

Something about his tone, something about the way he looked out to the waves, it set Sam's teeth on edge. There was something itching at the back of his mind...

He nearly toppled over when he remembered. Anna and the warning that might have been a trap, Anna and her words and her begs and her sheer red hair.

Sam opened his mouth to say something but then he saw Dean's face, so awfully _young _in the fresh morning light. So pure and _peaceful._

He looked back out to sea and thought about everything. About Anna and all she had said. That Dean would lose everything.

Well, to defeat that prophecy, he just needed to protect things. He would protect himself and his mother, which, honestly, was the extent of who they cared about.

But it didn't matter if they met more people or made more friends. Because Sam, he'd save them as well.

Sam stared out to the ocean, his arm brushing with his brothers. He vowed something then. Something crippling and _damaging _and _terrifying_.

_I'm gonna save everyone, _Sam thought, casting his mind out like he was saying a prayer. Because perhaps the gods would hear him. Perhaps they'd hold all of this to him. _I'm going to save everything._

* * *

Dean helped Sam unload their few possessions off the boat. It was just them, a pack with food for a few days and some clothes he'd won playing dice with some of the other guys on the boat. They'd taken an instant liking to Dean, which had been their downfall. They couldn't have known that he'd rigged the dice. They might have suspected something when he _never _lost, but then again, they weren't about to start anything under the watchful eye of the captain or with the strongest looking guy on the boat. More than that, Dean knew Sam was kind to them, and they knew that the two boys were travelling together.

There wasn't much kindness in the days Dean struggled through. It _cut-throat _and _unforgiving_.

"You good?" Sam asked, watching him with wide, innocent, careful eyes.

Dean nodded and pasted another smile onto his face. "Couldn't be better. Need me to carry that?" Sam looked a little offended so Dean added, "I am the son of the Gods, after all."

Sam got a weird expression on his face at the mention of 'gods', but hefted the statue over to Dean with a small smile and no great deal of reluctance. Dean wasn't surprised, hollow yeah, but even hollow it was heavy. Running with it had been a mixture of over-estimating and adrenalin, and now it was just a dead weight.

"So," Dean adjusted the statue so that it leant on his chest. "Where are we taking this?"

"Ari," Sam said and Dean groaned.

"Ugh," Dean recalled the old man who'd bought things off them in the past. "He's bad news and creepy as Hell, Sam. We don't need him. We'll find someone else."

Sam shook his head and pointed to the uncommonly large number of people huddling along the wharf as they moved toward town. "Look, Dean. I'd heard about this in that last place, but I didn't believe it." Sam shook his head and Dean recognised what all this simpering, homeless people must mean.

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Athens is...in _decline_?"

Sam nodded, thunderstruck. "Seems to be."

Dean looked around and had t consciously stop himself from shaking his head. This was insane, the city was the centre of the modern world. There were the best schools in the world here, schools that Dean privately hoped he'd have enough money to send Sam to when his little brother was old enough. The thought of Sam sitting around in a big old room, lectured by the best in the world on philosophy and mathematics brought Dean a bittersweet joy. Where did Dean's talents lie? In making war and in fighting more than one opponent. Oh, and all that stealing stuff. All those things will fade quickly, his strength won't last forever.

"You ok?" Sam asked, glancing at Dean.

Dean nodded and lead the way. "Yeah. Sure, fine. Is Ari living in the same place?"

Sam nodded. "Last I heard. He said he'd send word if he moved."

Dean tried not to look too dispirited when Sam said that. As much as his little brother was clever, he also had an undeserving belief in the humans they were forced to deal with and then humanity as a whole. He didn't have any faith in the gods though, which Dean was relieved for. And he'd begun to narrow his eyes whenever the king spoke.

Dean wasn't sure, but there was _probably _something wrong with a guy who adopted two kids in simply because one of them _might _be descended from the gods. He didn't know. Probably.

They made their way up through the docks, weaving along through the crates of goods that came from all over the world. Dean winced when the heady scent of rotting fish hit him from a ship that looked a little worse for wear. All he could smell was fish, seaweed and whenever a sailor dashed past him, the sour scent of unwashed bodies. There was a beauty to the open sea and losing yourself on the waves, sure. But Dean could never see himself committing to it. Nomadic travelling, sure. But the land was where the gods had decided was free for all, or free for none. No god dictated control over the earth, no god could demand the world stop or start. That was the sort of thing Dean told himself to get to sleep at night.

The sea, however, was the sea Gods domain. Him and his Neied's. The water spirits drowned soldiers and tore apart ships if the captain or one of the crew offended the malevolent god and he was an easy god to piss off. Dean had thought maybe his presence _on _the sea would have been enough to shook the old god into action, tipping the boat over or ripping his hand through the bottom and pulling Dean down into the depth of the inky blue, but he didn't. Dean supposed he had his dad to thank for that one. Oh well. It was his father's fault he had been born with the stigma of 'Demigod' pasted over his head. Dean figured that the century old deity owed him.

The two brothers made off through the town when they got out of the maze of boats and yelling, sun-bronzed people. It was a nice day, the summer sun beat down on their heads with more tenderness than the assault yesterday and the air tasted sweet, despite the fact that they were near the smoke and dust of the Athenian city.

"Nice day," Dean commented, glancing around at the carriages pulled by mules and donkeys and the people milling about. "Too bad about the whole fugitive thing."

Sam frowned. "We're not technically fugitives."

Dean shrugged. "Makes our lives sound more interesting."

Sam shouldered his pack. "Trust me, our lives are interesting enough."

Ari lived on the fair side of town, away from the docks and the city centre, far from the marketplace and removed from the tourist centre. He was nowhere near the castle and herein lay Dean's biggest problem with the guy. He was so far away from everything, if someone got wind of his purchases and the things he sold, his area would be the _first _place they looked.

"This guys an idiot," Dean grumbled as they struggled up another hill, the weight of the idol was really making itself felt after 20 minutes of walking. "Wouldn't it make more sense to live in plain sight, too..." he adjusted the statue for the fifth time "I dunno, _avoid suspicion_?"

Sam even smiled a little at that. "Yeah, probably. But, come on man. We're lucky we found ourselves a rich idiot. Some people go through lives never even coming close to the deal we get with him."

A rich idiot. That summarised Ari pretty well. "True," Dean said, sighing and adjusting the statue.

Sam frowned and for a moment, looked a little self-conscious. "Do...do you want me to carry it?"

Dean glanced over. "No, no, I'm fine. Stop askin'."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Stop _sighing _then."

They moved further and further away from the bright, sparkly end of town and into the rural district, where the homelessness from the decline was spelt out in bad paint jobs and children sitting, sullen and staring , in the streets. And then there were the men sat in the gutter clutching a bottle of some strong smelling alcohol. Dean didn't have time to flash them sympathies, but Sam smiled at them softly, trying to spell out _We can't help you _and _there's empathy for you here _and _you don't deserve this _in a small flex of his muscles.

They walked around to the house that they remembered Ari being in the last time they'd had to make a quick sell in Athens. They could normally trick some poor schmuck out of more money than Ari was willing to give them. He might be a rich idiot, but he knew the worth of a gold plated statue with a hollowed inside than a twisted devotee to the gods.

Sam clenched his fingers and then balled his hands into a fist, knocking on the door. Dean let the statue fall to the ground slowly, rising up without the weight and smiling, the relief spilling out along the muscles of his chest and arms.

Sam gave him a look after he had signalled that they were waiting outside the house. "Wow."

Dean stretched his hand out and twisted his torso to loosen his abdomens. "I dunno, might have had something to do with the _massively _heavy statue you forced me to carry."

Sam just rolled his eyes and didn't play along with the goad, not giving Dean the satisfaction of getting self-righteous. Dean hummed quietly to himself, amusing himself by staring at the pretentious, yet beautiful carvings, memoirs of a Athenian wedding, and then the gods involved swirling around the heads of the bride and the groom. If he wasn't mistaken, Ari had never been married in his life and relied on a good deal of probably illicit herbs to, well, _get himself going_. Around the brides head was Anna, and then the goddess of marriage Jody, with her short dark hair and piercing eyes. Then around the grooms head was the king of the gods, Dean's dead-weight father with a serious glow in his eyes and a beard that Dean hoped he hadn't inherited. Then there was a few other gods who's faces had become too disfigured for recognition. Dean could see Crowley, the wine god, making liquid out of grapes held up for him by some minor nymph.

"Check it out," Dean said, more to himself than Sam. "It's the family."

Sam glanced up and saw the fresco and snorted. "Well, you're definitely Crowley's half brother."

Dean made a face at that. It was weird for him to think that he was as biologically related to the drunk of Olympus as he was to his mortal brother, standing next to him, waiting a weirdly long time for Ari to answer the door.

Dean flicked his eyes towards a window and saw nothing but darkness, so he pressed his ear against the door to see if he could hear anyone moving inside.

"Knock again?" Sam asked, following Dean's suit by looking through the window.

"See anything?" Dean asked.

Sam shook his head. "Nothing."

Dean heaved a sigh and knocked again. He hoped that this wasn't Ari's idea of a test or something. If the weird ass wedding carving was anything to go by, he was becoming more and more worried about his image. Which meant 'Fashionable Lateness'. Which meant Dean was three second away from kicking the door down.

Sam gestured to the house quickly and Dean stood and listened carefully. He made a half relieved, half pissed face when he heard scuffling inside.

The door peered open and Ari stuck his head out, the man had dark brown eyes, a squished face and hair closer to black than brown. His face broke into something more akin to acknowledgment than welcome, but he fully opened the door nonetheless.

"Hiya, Ari," Dean smiled, like a predator. "Remember us?"

Ari nodded jovially. "Yes, yes, of course! The kings sons! What can I do for you?"

"We've got a business proposal," Sam said, entering the house, forcing Ari to step back and allow room for Dean and the statue, which he bent over to pick up.

Ari looked nervous. "Again?"

"Yeah, again," Dean sighed. "We're nearly out of time, you're our last hope, man."

They stood in the doorway and Sam glanced purposefully at the door. Ari, albeit reluctantly, swung it shut and they were thrown into a dusky darkness.

"So," Dean unfurled the fabric like Sam had done yesterday, except where his brother had unwound it to make a flag, Dean did it to reveal what was inside. The gold bleated up at them cheerfully, catching the light. "How much drachma could you spare for this old thing?"

The side of Sam's mouth turned up and he met Dean's eyes. "We found it on the side of the road."

Ari's eyes took in the gold with greedy pleasure. "Shame, that."

"Yeah," Dean agreed, downcast. "So, what are we talkin' here, 40 drachma, 50?"

Ari's eyes met his, and the older man smiled.

* * *

When Jo told the castle attendant her name, he watched her fearfully, and then made the action to ward against evil. She stood like a page of myth, like a face from the dead coming back to haunt the living. She would have been, she hoped, if she had actually died. Raised herself out of hell and kicked her dad's ass for leaving her out like that.

"I'm here," she walked towards him carefully. "To see my _father_."

He gaped and nodded, running off in the opposite direction. Jo sighed and rubbed her shoulder, glancing around the room she was in. It was nice, too nice, too clean. Cleanliness was misleading, she remembered Meg had told her. Everything about this world was misleading.

Jo had come to the Hunters after being taken in by a bear. The bear had lost its cubs and an eye to hunters a few weeks before, men with savage dogs and red eyed horses. It had confused Jo with what it had lost, picked her up by the scraps of fabric that had been all she had been left with as she'd had her death sentence handed to her and whisked her off to its cave.

Meg and her huntresses had found the bear and rescued Jo before the bear accidently sat on her.

And since then, that was how she was raised.

Running along with the wolves and learning how to shoot before she could stand. She surpassed all the others in Meg's company and now she was off, off to make her mark, to see if there would be songs sung about the forgotten daughter turned warrior.

"Jo?"

Jo turned and saw a man she didn't recognise running down to her. When Meg had come across the series of events and relayed the story to Jo, she'd been careful not to give any physical descriptions of the king. She said that Jo would know, that blood calls to blood.

Jo stood rigid as the king walked closer to her.

"You're..._alive_?"

Jo smiled. "Apparently."

The king shook his head. "I can't...I can't believe it."

Jo smiled. "Better luck next time, right?"

She was so mad, she was shaking. Because she did recognise him. Despite not wanting to, despite assuring herself that family went beyond blood. But here she was, and her eyes flicked over his face and his clothes and the expression that had been incredulous and now hovered around stunned and affronted, and she _knew _he was hers. That she was his.

"I-"

"Save it," Jo cut him off.

She smiled savagely. The gods could not have been kind to him in the years that he'd spent having rid himself of her. Infanticide was brushing a little close to home to the King and all his Olympian buddies.

Now he'd learn what family meant, and deal with all the dysfunction and all the pain that came with it.

Jo liked the Fates and she liked the Furies. She liked how you got served what you gave and vengeance was _assured_.

Silence had washed across the foyer, trapping the king into just looking at her, wondering what to say, what not to say, how fast she was at pulling out her bow.

"We have a _lot _to talk about."

* * *

_Ok, so:_

_Jodi: Hera_

_Crowely: Dionysus_

_Jo: Atalanta_

_Anna: Hestia_

_Sam and Dean: Perseus/Theseus/Jason etc._

_Meg: Artemis/Head Hunters Honcho/Random Huntress/Amazon/Penthesilea_

_DEVIATIONS FROM ACTUAL MYTH: Character names/Hestia's involvement in humanity/Atalanta's reason for returning (which I don't know so I made it up no one get angry)/Athens in decline_


	3. Long, Long Way From Home

_Song: Long, Long Way From Home by Foreigner_

**G'day**

**Get pumped bc u know who's pumped that's right mE**

**Special thanks to everyone who's reviewed, followed and favourited so far.**

**And a bit of info for you, I researched for five seconds and it said that one drachma was worth about 25 US dollars. So Dean was asking for 1000 to 1250 for the statue. And Ari's an idiot.**

**I was rewatching s1 to get some Dean-ism's down and, oh **_**god**_**, I MISS SEASON ONE SO MUCH. THE COLOURING, THE MYTHOLOGY. THE **_**HAIR.**_

**So, if you have the time, even a one word review would be very much appreciated :)**

* * *

Acrisius was a mortal man doomed to a mortal life. His fine features washed away with age and his intellect crumbled as he neared the pointy end of his life. He'd once been a keen philosopher, a highly regarded mathematician, but none of that mattered anymore. Now he was the off end of the other vegetables running around, the old men screaming warnings at would-be heroes and chasing young maidens around like they had any chance at remarrying.

Acrisius had been a wanderer for most of his life. Someone had murdered his family, so he did a bit of killing back. To balance the scales. He hadn't thought that anyone would see it as _murder_, rather than vengeance, but apparently people were more attuned to death and destruction when it happened to a family of small children and pregnant wives.

So Acrisius had fled and now he walked the world as a nowhere-man, slipping through countries like he was born to run. His sandals wore down and his cloak was well-worn. He had stories of men with three faces and glorious women bathing naked in a stream, their voices so pure and sweet that he'd sobbed, wept, face down into the earth. He had stories of a man with the strength of thirty bulls and a woman who could tell precisely the day you were to die by the brightness of the spark in your eye. He had seen everything.

And now he came to meet his end.

Acrisius knew better than to curse the weather when the rain fell as it did, massive buckets drenching him and the landscape, turning the road into a river and swelling lakes and ponds beyond the limit of their banks. He stumbled around in it and cast angry prayers to the gods, the god of the Skies and the god of the Seas. The brothers must have worked together to form this, this molten, frothing _ugly _storm that ripped away at him and at the mountains he was surrounded by.

The sky was already dark and Acrisius let out a cry of despair, hand over his eyes to keep the drenching water out, when the sun began to sink and the world began to darken further. If he didn't make it to the next town before nightfall, he would be lost in the storm. Acrisius was not young and he was not strong by any means. If he lingered here, he would catch his death and die, lonely and forgotten on the side of a hill.

He blinked rapidly and then turned, and by chance he saw the entrance to a cave. Letting out a sigh he hurried to it, his cloak wrapping behind him, his sandals slipping on the soft mud that was more water than grit. He fell towards the entrance and caught himself, his hand pressed wide on the stone.

He let out a laugh and turned, facing the way he'd come, stepping further into the cave so that the rain was no longer his to fear. It thundered down and pushed the water onto his gnarled toes, but he didn't fear that. He would back into the cave, light a fire and wrap around himself all he had left in his pack. Perhaps the sheepskin blanket would be wet, but it would be dense and warm.

Acrisius sighed and couldn't help smirk at the clouds that had seemed so dangerous only moments before. The gods could try their best with him, but he had escaped worse than a few raindrops.

Suffice to say, he'd never seen a storm of _this _intensity before.

Acrisius was so wrapped up in himself that he didn't hear her. She slid along the ground and her scales scrapped the stone and he did not hear her. Her hair writhed like it was caught up in a battle with itself and he did not hear her.

Her fangs slid over her teeth in her hunger and constant pain and the loss of all she'd been through, and he _did not hear her._

Acrisius shook his head at his luck and stepped further into the cave and out of the puddle that had been pooling at the entrance. He unstrapped his cloak from around his shoulders and bunched it into his arms.

Medusa stalked forward, her hair snapped and cracked and _hissed_. She was _awful _and _terrifying _and the product of everyone's worst fears. She slipped through the darkness. This was her home. He was an intruder. Honestly. What was she _supposed _to do?

Acrisius turned and for a few moments he had peace. His eyes were lazily downcast and he was thinking about the fire he was going to light, about the sleep he was going to have.

But then she emerged, a beast from the shadows. The light from outside the cave was dusk filtered through thick cloud, but it was enough for him to see her.

He built up a scream, but it froze in his throat. His limbs tensed and cracked into place. His eyes were fixed unseeingly on hers. Medusa smiled and stroked his quickly greying face.

The last thing that man saw, the murder, the child-killer, the nomad, was Medusa's bright yellow eyes and the snakes of her hair snapping down at his cheeks with all the tenderness of a mother to her newborn.

And then the snakes hissed in unison, gathering back and he saw no more.

Medusa hovered around her new statue, the stone of the man's body swung hollow and dead around the front of her cave.

It had been long since she'd had company.

She bared her teeth savagely and her hair hissed in agreement.

She slunk off back into her cave, where her sisters awaited her, scaled and snakelike as she was, celebrating already the success of Medusa's newest victim.

* * *

Castiel wasn't hiding. No. He wouldn't call it that. He was just..._avoiding _a certain person. Self-preservation. Biding his time. Because certain people wouldn't be too happy when or if they _did _find Cas.

That person being his boss. That being because Cas had accidently started a brawl. That being because he wanted to keep his job.

It was all pretty understandable, but Cas felt terrible all the same. The two men had only wanted to know his opinion on which version of the newest warships developed in Athens were better. He'd suggested the latter of the two, not really knowing either.

And then one had leapt up in his victory, and the other had punched him in the jaw.

"What are we hiding from?" a woman's voice asked, perched next to him behind a table.

Cas blinked and recoiled, sizing up the new arrival. It was the flame haired woman from before. The one who'd disappeared without a sound and without warning. The one he'd suspected being a goddess.

Cas swallowed. "Uh...you're-"

The woman smiled in greeting. "You remember! Good, good."

Cas narrowed his eyes. "Who _are _you?"

The woman sobered a little. "I'm no one. I'm here to help."

Cas ran his hand over his eyes. "That doesn't make any sense."

The woman sighed and sat down, moving from her crouch and taking up the rest of the area hidden by the table. "I know. I'm sorry. I could tell you who I was-"

"But Names have power," Cas finished, grave but irritated. Overly dramatic women crawling over to him on the floor when he was supposed to be hiding from his boss wasn't high on his priorities at the moment.

The woman smiled then, small and sad. He felt bad then, for being so dismissive of her. Perhaps she wasn't a goddess, but she still deserved his respect.

"The world is changing, Castiel," she said, slowly and purposefully, like she'd planned it out. "We're on the brink of something..." she trailed off, gazing into the air. "_Horrifying_."

Cas sat more relaxed into the table. But he was beginning to tense and worry. "Why are you telling me this?"

Red hair brushed against the table leg and caught itself in a few of the splinters beginning to thaw away. She looked at him, mystified. "To warn you, Cas. Because it _concerns _you."

Cas almost felt ashamed at his surprised. He blinked, not understanding, and then he sat back heavily, hands pressed to the floor. "A...prophecy."

The woman sighed. "Yes. It doesn't focus on you directly. But you will be involved. This _will _include you."

Cas thought about Rachel and her husband and the life he'd built here. He thought of the waves lapping at the shore and the banners cracking against the wind. His hands began to shake. It wasn't _fair_. He didn't _want _this. He wanted to live like a _normal _person, a farm, a wife, children, normality and _happiness_. Cas wanted to get up and leave. He didn't want her watchful, hopeful eyes fixed on his any longer. He wanted _out _and he hadn't even gotten _in _yet.

Cas's voice was scarily calm when he spoke. "Why me?"

The woman's breath caught and she looked at him, with no regard for anything at all. She looked at him utterly without reservation. And she looked like her heart was breaking.

It made for an odd scene, this beautiful woman with hair like the tip of a flame, eyes large and brown and dire, dressed as though she'd been walking for days with tongues of fire on her sleeves squatting on the floor with a man who had seen better days and would not see any happier ones. A man with tired blue eyes that seemed to pierce through the air, a mouth puckered into a mild smile after years of practise. They sat there, wary of each other and wishing that anything and everything was different.

_Why me_?

"It has to be you, Castiel," she said, leaning back and staring at the ceiling as if looking through the wood to the blue of the sky, studying it like the philosophers studied stars. "Because you're the only one strong enough."

Cas felt his stomach clench. "I'm _not _strong enough."

She shrugged and made a move that Cas thought indicated she was ready to get up. "I'm sorry. But you'll have to be."

Cas pushed his hand through his hair and felt so heavy and lost. He wouldn't move, not from that spot. He wouldn't be able to. Not for another 100 years.

"Why did you tell me?" Cas asked, but it was more of a statement, more of a deadened demanding.

She frowned a little. "It's true, I suppose. People shouldn't know their fates. It messes things up."

"Or _sets_ them up," Cas muttered.

She carried on like she hadn't heard him. "Because this _cannot _come to pass. I can't...I can't _sit by _idly anymore."

Cas felt his skin fizzle at her words, hairs perking up long his arms. His stomach, first heavy and now churning, thudded along with her words. She had admitted now, hadn't she? That she was old, at least, very old. And important, important enough to have felt like she should have been able to make a difference.

Her hair was not _similar _to flames, it _was _flames, and her voice, calm and friendly and, _gods_, her voice sounded like _home_.

"I know who you are," Cas said, and his voice was flushed and excited. "You're Anna, aren't you?"

Anna looked over at him and smiled. Smiled like he had unravelled the universe. Smiled like he had proven himself. "Names are dangerous, Cas. Don't forget."

And then Cas blinked and she was gone, like a candle puffed out of existence. He stood, suddenly feeling himself filled with this unrivalled bravery that held him and directed him and pushed him forward.

His boss charged at him, red faced and _fuming_. It looked like he was moments away from smoke coming out of his ears and his skin melting off his face.

"_You fu-_"

"Be quiet," Cas stated, defiant. "Don't talk to me like that."

And his boss stopped, stared, blinked and clenched his hands into fists. "_Excuse _me?"

Cas glared. "I _said_-"

"I heard what you _said_, Castiel," the owner mocked, singing his name like it was girlish. Like it was an _insult_. "I'd just given you a chance to correct yourself, you slimy _ass_."

Cas blinked and glared. He didn't blush and he didn't back down. _Anna_. The name filled him with strength and he felt the grips of reality melt away. Here he was, a character in a prophecy, a mortal who'd spoken with _gods_; and here was his _superior_, fat and stupid and losing the best years of his life.

"Well," Cas said calmly, fixing his gaze to all those in the tavern who had stopped and were staring at him. "I _quit_."

There was a shocked silence. Quit? Work? At _this _sort of time?

"Yeah," Cas nodded decisively, as if he was answering their unanimous unasked question. "I quit."

And then, without looking back, the young man with the brilliant blue eyes, richer and kinder than any others you might meet flared towards the doorway and didn't look back.

The door swung shut behind him, but not fully closed. It was caught by a man with a bemused expression and a younger brother, a young man with godly blood. A young man who would one day, become Cas's best and most trusted friend.

* * *

"What happened here?" Sam asked, glancing around the quiet, second rate tavern with unbridled curiosity.

Dean shook his head, the young man pushing passed him and the determined expression on his face scribbling on the back of Dean's mind. Like it was important. But it couldn't have been, so Dean ignored it. "No idea."

"C'mon," Sam tugged Dean towards the door. "Looks like someone _died _in here."

Dean followed him out into the sunlight.

* * *

Samadriel was the god of travellers and thieves. He was short and thin and overall, quite small.

This was how Dean pictured him, whenever he closed his eyes and went over what he thought each individual god would look like. He _hated _that he did that, but what could he do? It kind of covered all aspects of his life. It was entangled in everything he did.

"Ok, so we _walk _home?" Dean groaned, shifting the pack he was carrying from his right shoulder to his left.

Sam nodded grimly. "That's the plan."

Dean sighed and hefted the bag, moving along at a slightly faster pace. Sam had managed to plan it so that they always had a place to stay as they made their way back to their mother and adoptive father.

"Wait, _all the way back_?" Dean demanded.

Sam didn't honour him with a response. He just glared.

"I am a fucking _demigod_," Dean muttered. "I should be, I dunno, _carried_."

"Tame the Pegasus or something," Sam suggested airily.

Dean gave him a look. "Wow. _Great _idea Sam. Any other _really _good ones to share with the class?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "You're the one complaining about walking, man. Not me."

"Yeah, well," Dean trailed off after that running out of things to say.

"So, what are we gonna do to pass the time...I Spy?"

"What the _hell_ is 'I Spy'?" Dean asked shrewdly.

Sam smiled slyly. "I just made it up."

Dean gave his little brother a look. "Wow. Nice one, Sam."

Sam's smile morphed into something more genuine and easy. "Yeah, thanks."

"So..." Dean started begrudgingly. "How do you play?"

Sam looked around them at the farms and the other travellers that surrounded them. The road they were on was frequented often and while this practically handed them over to the robbers who'd very much like to steal all the drachma they'd tried so hard to collect, it also meant that there were more people for the said thieves to busy themselves with. It was unlikely they'd mess with two cheaply clothed boys when there were other more ideal victims trailing along in the same direction.

"I Spy with my little eye-"

"_My little eye_?" Dean demanded.

"-something beginning with...f."

Dean glanced around then back at Sam. "Wait, seriously?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Seriously."

"Dude, come on," Dean gestured around them. "Farm. Obviously."

Sam looked quietly put off. "Damn."

Dean shook his head. "_Seriously_?"

"Your turn," Sam stated, ignoring Dean's question.

Dean let out a breath of air. "Right, uh...I spy with...no I refuse to say that-"

"Hurry up."

"Keep your toga on. Sheesh. Ok, something beginning with...T."

"T?" Sam asked dubiously, looking around. He narrowed his eyes and looked carefully.

Dean made an impatient noise at the back of his throat. "C'mon, it's not hard dude."

"T...raveller?"

"Give the boy the golden laurels," Dean grinned.

Sam smirked at that. "Ok, so, I spy with-"

"I'm interrupting you right there, because you sound _ridiculous_."

"Fine. Whatever. Ok, something beginning with...Ω."

"Oh-Meg-a," Dean sounded it out, glancing around musing over the clue. "Hmmm."

After a few moments, an overexcited Sam choked out, "Give up?"

Dean snorted. "You wish."

There was a companionable silence as Dean kept looking. Then it struck him and he gave Sam a look.

"Really, Sam?"

Sam shrugged, already sensing defeat. "What can I say? There isn't that much to work with."

"Sky," Dean stated. "Out of everything, you choose _sky_."

"Hey. I'm an opportunist."

"Uh, you're an _idiot_."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

"Uh, hi," both brothers started and turned towards each other instinctively when a new voice called out. They gathered themselves quickly and looked at the newcomer, just another dusty traveller walking along a long, dirt road.

Dean's stomach flipped but he fought to control it. He gazed, astounded at the man in front of them. Surrounded by the hills perhaps, and the bulk of the men walking passed them...but no, it was so _identical._

The man, he looked _exactly _like the way he envisioned Samandriel. The god of thieves and highways and travellers...it couldn't be...but it _had _to be...

"Uh, hi," Sam answered, giving an odd look towards his older brother that wasn't missed by Dean and addressing the stranger where Dean normally did.

"I couldn't help overhearing..." the man said, gesturing to the road and falling into step with Sam. "You sound like you have more interesting conversation than the last people I was with."

Dean regathered control over himself, immediately suspicious of the newcomer. "Yeah, so, why the hell have you decided to talk to us then?"

Sam shot him a pained look, a _Oh my gods Dean you're so embarrassing be nice oh black day this is why we can't have nice things _downward mouth and tightened eyebrows. Dean shot him a _really you're going to trust a man you've never met nice one Sam _before turning back to the newcomer, the god look-alike missing the second long exchange.

The traveller looked like he understood he'd trod on a few toes and backed off slightly, a wary tiredness crossing over his features. "No, no, he's right. Sorry. It just gets pretty lonely out here."

Sam seemed sympathetic but Dean wasn't buying it.

"Do you travel often?" Sam asked, his instinctual politeness kicking through.

The man nodded. "I deliver messages for the king of Athens."

Dean gave him a once over, starting to feel his head hurt. "You're a messenger. Seriously?"

"Why?" the man asked, an odd sort of urgency and intensity suddenly come over his features.

"Whoa, chill dude," Dean said. "Just seems like an...odd fit."

The man shook off the oddness and laughed in agreement. "I know. I mean, guys like me, we should at least be _smart_, right? Like there's you athletes and then there's just little old me."

The praise reddened Sam's cheeks so Dean decided to take it from there. "Yeah, ok, so you decided to be a _messenger_?"

"What can I say?" the man sighed. "I had a crappy guidance counsellor."

* * *

Despite Dean's misgivings, the man travelled with them and Sam enjoyed his company. He was bright and cheerful and managed to find words other than the three things that surrounded them when they introduced him to I Spy. He even managed to get them stuck on one. (S for Sandal) and guess the ones they thought were clever. All the talk about him being forced into messaging seemed a little off to Sam at this point. Other than being pretty inquisitive and quick to pick up on things (he seemed to know instinctively that Sam and Dean were brothers. He told them that he had brothers of his own that had curious character and Dean had an odd look about him for almost an hour after that) and he talked to Sam about the elements and mathematics and philosophy.

Every time he got too close to something big or otherworldly clever, he'd change the topic.

Sam thought about the man and about Anna and about the way his eyes sometimes looked into Sam's, like he was saying _honestly, I can't make it any more obvious_.

But with Dean there and other travellers swarming about them, the pace picking up as the afternoon wore on, Sam couldn't say anything.

"What's your name?" Sam finally asked, smiling as though he didn't care what the answer was.

The man smiled like nothing was amiss. "Sam."

"Really?" Sam asked, running the name over and over in his mind. "Same here. And that's Dean."

Dean flashed a smile. "That's the name, don't wear it out."

_Sam. Samandriel?_

"Will you be stopping at the inn in the next town?"

"In inn," Sam(andriel?) said smiling.

"Yeah," Dean said, rolling his eyes.

The perhaps god of travellers didn't see or wasn't offended by Dean. "I am."

"Good," Sam smiled like he meant it, and in a way, he did.

* * *

"I'll throw our stuff up," Dean told him, taking Sam's pack off his younger brothers shoulders and dragging the two up the hall towards the room they'd managed to get for the night in the Inn at the edge of one of the towns Sam had planned for them to visit on their way home.

"Alright," Sam said, glancing up and watching as Dean lifted the two with him as he walked up the stairs.

As soon as his brother disappeared, Sam turned to the Traveller and stared, hostile and threatening and _Dean _down at him.

"Who the Hell are you," Sam demanded. "_Really_?"

The traveller looked at him without surprise or fear. "I'm Sam. Or Samandriel, if you're my mother."

"Samandriel," Sam echoed, lost, stepping back, all the fire he'd rushed with left in the truth behind his assumptions. Then he narrowed his eyes. "Why should I believe you?"

Samandriel shrugged. "Don't. I don't care."

"Why are you here, Samandriel?" Sam demanded, dropping his voice and glaring at the god. "Why can't you all just _leave me alone_?"

Samandriel looked a little caught on that, then he closed his eyes and sighed. "Anna. Of course."

Sam was taken aback and then worried for the goddess that had payed them a favour. "You're...she won't be punished, will she?"

"What?" Samandriel asked, like that was the thing furthest from his mind. "No. No, _no_, of course not."

Sam felt tension he didn't even know he was holding dissipate when he heard those words. Then he grew cautious again.

"Why are you here? Why are you following me and my brother?"

Samandriel sighed. "Anna must have told you all about the prophecy already, so you know all about that. I'm here to warn you. You _cannot _avoid this. The Fates have decreed it and so must it be."

Sam shook his head. "I'm not leaving my brother alone and doomed up here."

"I'm sorry," Samandriel said, and though he seemed apologetic, he also looked disconnected and uncaring about the situation as a whole. "But it _will _come to pass. Free Will is an illusion."

Sam felt uncomfortable. An illusion? Every strain of spontaneity, every choice, ever _whim _was the blocks of some master plan? Did he have no say in the roads his life took, that his _brother's _life took? Why wasn't he allowed to save him? Why wasn't he allowed to be given a chance.

It felt childish to be asking questions like that, but Sam couldn't help it. He remembered sitting on the boat and swearing that he was going to save everyone.

_I'm gonna save everyone. I'm going to save everything._

"Anna doesn't think so," Sam attempted.

"Anna means well, but she's an artist and a poet and, above all, an optimist," Samandriel informed him. "She can't know how..._iron clad _all of this is. It'd been written for eons before your birth. The world has been planned."

_People with destinies shouldn't make plans_, Sam thought suddenly, not sure where the thought came from. But no, he _would _save Dean. Because he had to. Because he'd sworn he would. Because he'd looked out to the ocean, set his jaw and _decided_.

"Look," Samandriel seemed suddenly a lot more morose, a lot more humanised. He looked at Sam and saw a suffering brother and he could feel himself _as _Sam. It was unnerving, the world suddenly cold and big and terrifying in the shoes of a mortal. Empathy. That was what they called it, when you walked the world in someone else's shoes. Gods were not meant to feel empathy. "Try. But it's fruitless, Sam. There is no way to avoid this."

Sam looked down at his feet and refused to meet the gods eye.

Samandriel felt an urge to step forward and place his hand on Sam's shoulder. He slapped it away and reminded himself of his place. "I'm sorry."

Sam looked up and for some reason, he _smiled_. He didn't know where he found it, this smile. Perhaps it was involuntary or perhaps it was the gods remorse. But Sam smiled.

"You're wrong," he said, and Samandriel knew that the world was lost. "I _will _find a way."

The god looked at Sam sadly. "Farewell then, Sam Winchester. Enjoy Asphodel, won't you?"

And Sam blinked and the god was gone, nothing more than a memory, a fleeting blip on the radar of eternity.

Dean hunkered down almost immediately after that, yawning and complaining loudly about the lack of good bedding in Inn's these days. What with the economy in the state it was.

Sam forced himself into good spirits and joined Dean.

Dean glanced around and frowned. "Where'd Sam jr. head off to?"

Sam shrugged. "He said something about Fate and then ran off." Well, it wasn't exactly a lie, although Sam wouldn't call just vanishing into thin air 'running off'.

"Right," Dean smiled wryly. "Good riddance. He looked shifty. And familiar. Had we met him before?"

Sam shrugged again. "He was a messenger. Maybe he visited the castle a few times."

Dean relaxed and Sam wondered who he thought he was. "Oh, yeah that must be it."

Sam couldn't help himself. "Why?"

"He..." Dean scratched at the stubble he'd been beginning to grow in the past few years. "He just looked exactly...nah, it's stupid."

"No it's not," Sam automatically denied.

"Uh, ok," Dean said. "He just looked _exactly _how I imagined Samandriel, you know, messenger god of travellers and thieves?"

"Did he?" Sam heard that his voice was tight, but maybe it was his hammering heart or constricted lungs, because Dean didn't seem to notice anything.

"Yeah," Dean nodded. "Weird, right? Alright, who out of all the idiots at the bar should be challenge to dice?"

"The drunkest one," Sam responded easily.

Dean grinned. "I've taught you well, Sammy."

Dean turned his back to his little brother, and Sam's face fell.

Fate swung over them and the clock struck the next hour.

* * *

_Thus rolls around the end of chapter 3._

_Omega is the first letter in the ancient greek word for sky according to wiki-answers, so don't hold me to that._

_Anna: Hestia_

_Samandriel: Hermes_

_Sam/Dean: Perseus, Theseus etc._

_Acrisius is a made up dude who sounds like a bit of a dick to be honest._

_DEVIATIONS FROM ACTUAL MYTH: Character names/Athens in crisis/curse langauge (someone needs to tell me when 'fuck' originated)/Big Heroes Destined for Great Things playing I Spy like a pack of idiots_


End file.
